--to the tune of Yu Chia Ao
Summer 1931
The very clouds foam atop White Cloud Mountain,
At its base the roar of battle quickens.
Withered trees and rotten stumps join in the fray.
A forest of rifles presses,
As the Flying General descends from the skies.
In fifteen days we have marched seven hundred li
Crossing misty Kan waters and green Fukien hills,
Rolling back the enemy as we would a mat.
A voice is heard wailing;
His "Bastion at every step" avails him nought!
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